Ever After
by freedomfighter4
Summary: War has left many scars. Can love really overcome all? Sally POV


Ever After

This story is set in the future. War has left its scars on a once hero, but can love heal all? Sally POV I do not own Sonic, Sally, Tails, or Elias. I do own Nick and Sophie, who are mentioned briefly, please do not use them without permission.

Notes: Though Elias is mentioned in this story as King of Mobuis, the story line itself is mainly SatAM.

Though Nick and Sophie are used as the children in this story it is not directly tied into the Moment in Time story I wrote previously.

And they lived happily ever after. How many times had I read a story that ended in just that way? How many nights had I sat on the side of Tails' bed and then later my own children and finished a story with those very words? The knight kissed the beautiful Princess and they lived happily ever after. It's funny in a way. Not the laughing sort of funny, but that shake your head kind of humor. Irony some might call it. I call it unfair some mornings. Most mornings I simply call it life.

I am up with the sun, an old habit I seem unable to shake. Already at this early hour the bed is empty or more probably I had been the sole occupant the entire night again. The bedroom is upstairs and some nights . . . most nights he doesn't attempt the climb. I have argued so many times I've truly lost count that we could convert one of the downstairs rooms into a bedroom, but he dismisses the idea. Stupid pride or because he simply doesn't care to lie beside me anymore, I'm afraid to know which it is.

I dress quickly, pulling a cotton dress over my head. The material is soft and lightweight but still I feel uncomfortable in the confining clothing. I sigh, remembering fondly the wind in my bare fur, my body young and supple and minimally marred by scar tissue. I'm not old I remind myself, but this morning my reflection seems to tell me other wise. I am old . . . even if I'm still reasonably young. My eyes stare wearily at the mirror, at my tired face, at the bright white that streaks my red hair. My fortieth birthday is still three years away and already my bangs are laced with the stark declaration of advanced age. I had to grow up fast. Perhaps I'll grow old in the same way.

I drag my eyes away from the mirror, pulling open the medicine cabinet, peering inside at the many bottles. So many brown bottles of various size. I pull five out, as I do every morning. I sit them in a neat little row, the labels facing me to be sure I've not picked up an evening medication or an "as needed" by accident. Next I open them one at a time, shaking a pill from each into my hand. The big blue one. The little yellowish white one. The huge white one. The red capsule. And the tiny pink one. I sit them aside and put the bottles back where I got them, the labels facing outward. The little white slips of paper on the bottles vary greatly. The purpose of the medicine inside. The proscribing doctor. The dosage. They have nothing in common, not even the name on the label. Though they're all proscribed to the same individual not one of the names on the tag are exactly the same. Maurice Hedgehog. Sonic Hedgehog. Maurice "Sonic" Hedgehog. M. "Sonic." Hedgehog. M. S. Hedgehog. The only thing stranger than the inconsistency is that every day I take the time to think it's strange.

The TV is on in the den when I enter, a glass of apple juice in one hand, my other hand fisted and full of pills. He doesn't glance up at first, his green eyes fixed on the moving image before him. I sit down beside him and slowly his eyes turn toward me, skimming rather quickly over my face to focus on my closed hand and the medicine I hold. The relief I have brought him. Relief from his nearly constant pain. From his depression. And . . . I suspect, though the doctors dismiss my concern, his addictive need for the strong perceptions he has been given.

"Good morning." I greet and his eyes flicker back to my face. I smile at him and he half heartedly returns the gesture.

"Morin'."

"Did you sleep on the couch again?" I keep my tone neutral, friendly.

"Yeah . . . fell asleep watchin' the late movie." He is focused on my hand again and I give him the glass of juice, dropping the pills into his already outstretched hand. I watch him swallow them all at once with a large gulp from his glass.

"Remember that new restaurant I wanted to try?" I asked and he nodded though I doubt he honestly did remember. "They opened last week. I thought maybe we could go for lunch."

"Oh Sal . . . I don't know."

"We haven't been out in . . . a long time."

"We went to that brunch thingy . . . with Tails and his wife."

"That was six months ago Sonic."

"Was it?"

"Yeah. It's not good for you to . . . to just sit here like this."

"Well . . . it's about all I'm good at any more." He replied gruffly, turning his attention back to the television.

"Sonic . . ."

"You plannin' on makin' breakfast or do I have ta do it?" He snapped and I got up, biting at my lower lip.

"No . . . I'll go make something." I should have known better than to try to talk to him first thing in the morning. I do know better, but I still try.

We both saw it coming I suppose, though neither of us would have admitted it. It had started small. A couple years before the war's end I noticed that he limped sometimes after a particularly difficult mission. That he favored his left leg a little, but as the day went on it seemed to get better and he was up and running again. As time passed I noticed that limp more often. It came with less excursion and it stayed longer. A few months before the war's end it became a permanent thing. Still he ran. I saw tears in his eyes sometimes, I saw the grimace of pain as he held me close, racing toward our destination. At night both legs ached and I would rub at the tight muscle, I would rub for hours some nights, whispering a hushed jumble of words meant to comfort him. But I never asked him to stop. I told him to take a couple days off. I told him to take it easy, to be careful. But I never once told him to stop running. I never told him it was okay if he had to stop. It torments me some nights, that fact. The end of the war came, strangely anti-climatic. The war ended and I remember that night instead of celebrating I held my mate against me as he cried, the pain in his legs unbearable.

Time seemed to blur the next few years. My children grew, the city began to again thrive, my husband suffered. The doctor's visits began and never ended. The damage is immense, they tell us. It's a wonder he can still walk, they marvel. They batter us with painful words said so casually. Degenerative. Irreparable damage. Surgery. They began to toss out perceptions like the brightly colored ticker tape they throw every year to celebrate Mobian Independence. At first both Sonic and I thought the multitude of medication dangerous. It wasn't long until he was swayed though and I was left alone in my beliefs. And so began a long, endless battle. Funny that I'd finished one seemingly unending struggle just to began a new one. It made me long for the war, for at least then I hadn't been alone. I'd had comrades to fight by my side. In this battle I was the sole soldier.

I am scraping the last of the scrambled eggs into our plates when I feel a warm peach arm wrap around my waist, his forehead pressing against my shoulder blades. I sigh and, sitting the frying pan down, turn to face him. He leans heavily on one of his many canes, a brushed metallic blue one that he uses often. It's a good day, or at least a not as bad day. On the worst days he can't walk at all and I am forced to pull the wheelchair out of the closet where it is neatly folded. I know that in the future all his days will be spent in a wheelchair. I push the thought aside as I enfold him in my arms, hugging him.

"I'm real sorry Sal." He tells me softly, kissing lightly at the side of my face. His medication has had time to take effect and his mood has improved greatly, just as it does every day or at least most days.

"It's okay."

"No it ain't. I shouldn't . . . I shouldn't talk to ya like that. I'm gonna watch it from now on." He tells me as we part. I nod though I know this morning's events will be repeated. He seems to have no control over it now. He is a rollercoaster . . . this has made him a rollercoaster and I am the hapless rider.

"Have a seat and I'll bring you your breakfast." I tell him with a smile, grabbing up the two plates sitting on the counter.

"It smells good." He comments as he slowly makes his way to the kitchen table. I wait until he is seated then put his food before him, taking my seat across the table. We eat in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the scraping of forks against porcelain.

"Sophie called yesterday . . . while you were at physical therapy." I tell him with a soft sigh. Our children had begun their first year of collage and I miss them with a ferousity that is a little frightening.

"How is she doin'?"

"Good. She said she's making lots of friends and that she's really enjoying herself."

"I hope she's stayin' outta trouble."

"She says she is. I think . . .I hope she's being honest."

"She's a good girl." Sonic remarked with a soft smile. "Their both good kids."

"Yeah."

"Ya still wantin' ta go out for lunch?" He asked me, sitting his fork aside.

"Sure."

"Alright . . . let's do it. We'll go . . . aroun' three?"

"Sounds good." I smile and reach across the table to gently squeeze his hand. I am fully aware there is a good chance that by the time three rolls around he won't want to go any more. It happens that way a lot. His mood will shift and he'll back out. I won't get my hopes up.

Today it seems is a good day for he is still willing to leave the house at two-thirty when I stick my head into the den to ask how he's feeling. I fudged a little on his afternoon medication today, bringing it to him thirty minutes earlier than I should have, hoping to avoid the often mid-day slump in both his emotional and physical well being. It seems to have worked for his smile doesn't fade as we slowly make our way to the hover auto resting just outside. I open the door for him and wait as he climbs in. Soon we are on our way, the ground rushing away beneath us. Sonic looks out the window, watching the scenery go by.

"Remember highjackin' the ol' HoverUnits?" He asked with a little laugh. "Hard ta believe sometimes we actually own one of these."

"I know. Seems like only yesterday sometimes, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes it seems . . . like a lifetime ago."

"Sometimes," I agree. I hear him sigh and I hold my breath, wondering if this is a sign his mood is about to nose dive sharply. Suddenly he laughs, looking over at me, his eyes shining happily.

"Hey Sal . . .you remember that time . . ." He reminisces and I take a deep breath of relief.

We arrive at the restaurant a little after three and I happily note that we have arrived to early for the dinner rush and too late for the majority of lunch patrons. It takes Sonic almost ten minutes to get out of the auto and I stand patiently beside his door waiting. I learned long ago that helping him only upsets him. He will ask for my help if he wants it. At last he manages to climb out of the auto and we make our way to the large glass double doors at the front of the building. A couple Mobians on their way out stop to look at us. They mutter to each other a little too loudly, debating if we are indeed who they think we might be. I was hoping Sonic wouldn't notice, but of course he did, his eyes straying to where the young couple stood, watching us. I put my hand on his arm, rubbing lightly, praying the pair would simply walk on. But they didn't. They just continued to stare, their eyes boring into us. Sonic pauses, uncomfortable with their gaze. I whisper his name, trying to urge him on. The male gawker's face lit up at this one whispered word and he slapped playfully at his companion's arm.

"I told you so!" He told her with a laugh. Then he rushed to open the door for us, praise spewing from his lips in a jumbled gush of awe stricken joy. He tells us how honored he is to meet us. He tells Sonic that he is the optimiy of cool and that he'd taken track in high school in the hopes that he could be just a fraction as fast as he once was. He tells me he's read both my books multiple times and oh how he wished he had one with him so I might sign it. Finally we pass through the double doors and the male that introduced himself three times as Roddy told us to try the shrimp alfredo. "See, I told you." He tells the girl that stands beside him once more and she shrugs, smiling up at him.

"Alright, alright . . . calm down. You're gonna have a stroke." She sighs loudly. "I thought he was more crippled than that. I read somewhere he was in a wheelchair." I wince and I see Sonic's eyes close tight for a moment. I whirl around to say something but the couple is gone.

"Table for two?" A softly accented voice asks and I turn back around. I say nothing for a long moment and the waiter lifts an eyebrow in question. I look out over the dining room at the diners sitting at their tables. Some glance up in our direction.

"Sal . . . do we gotta . . ." His voice is soft, hurt and I shake my head.

"No." I tell him and we turn back around heading for the auto.

We go through the drive-thu of a near by fast food place and park beside a playground to eat. I suggest we take our meal to one of the many picnic tables situated on the well manicured grass, but Sonic shakes his head and begins to eat his chili dog in silence. I pick at my food, chewing with little enthusiasm. He notices and watches me for a long moment.

"I know this ain't your favorite." He tells me, sounding apologetic.

"It's fine."

"Ya never were big on the greasy food."

"I've gotten used to it."

"I'm sorry Sal."

"I understand. It's alright."

"Hey . . . maybe if you called Elias up, he could like have the restaurant closed for a day an' we could go."

"Sonic . . . my brother has more important things to do." I sigh, remembering a time long ago when the idea of never being the ruler of Mobius had upset me so much. I am glad now not to have the burden to carry. Sonic is heavy enough.

"Ya think I should just get over it?" He huffs and I nibble at an onion ring, preparing myself for the fight that was almost certainly about to began, regardless of what I said next.

"I understand that it isn't that easy . . . so no, I don't think you should just get over it."

"You don't understand." He tells me and I do not reply. "You don't know what it's like . . . how it feels to wake up every mornin' and know that this might be the mornin' ya can't stand . . . that you won't ever stand again. You don't know what it's like to hurt . . . to hurt from the time ya open your eyes till the time ya close 'um again at night. Ya don't know how it feels ta know ya permanently damaged yourself ta save a lota ungrateful snots who say snide things to ya and write lies in the papers an' . . .an' treat ya like you're a damn . . . like you ain't even the same person just because your legs don't work right no more! That's all I ever was to everyone . . . just speed . . . justa set a legs! An' now that I can't be that I ain't nothin'!"

"Sonic . . . Sweetheart, that isn't true."

"It is! It is true and you know it!"

"I don't . . . you've always been more to me." I clear my throat, licking at my suddenly dry lips. "And to the kids. And Tails. You've always been more."

"Wow, four people on the entire planet." He replied sarcastically, shaking his head.

"I would hope our opinions mean more to you than the rest of them."

Yeah, yeah . . . you're right Sal. It's what we always said durin' the war . . . as long as we had each other, no matter what else happened we'd be okay." He made a soft, sad sound. "Is that still true?"

"Of course . . . of course it is. I'm here for you Sonic. I'm here to make sure you're okay."

"No . . . I meant . . . is it still true for you? Am I still . . . do I still . . . make things okay for you?"

"Oh Sonic."

"I know I ain't easy to live with. I know I'm moody an' I know I . . . I say hateful things sometimes an' I'm scared it's just gonna get worse. I'm scared I . . . that I don't do nothin' but hurt ya anymore. That I'm notin' but a burden." He drops his head, his eyes closed. I can see tears gathering on the edge of the squinted lids and I turn in my seat, pushing the arm rest aside so I can pull him into my arms.

"Sonic . . . I don't want you to ever think of yourself as a burden, never. I have never done one thing for you because I felt forced to or cohersed or . . . anything like that. I love you and everything I do for you I do out of love and compassion and because I know you would do the same for me. And you're right, you aren't always easy to live with and you are moody and snappy and stubborn. But you are still you. You are still my husband and nothing is going to change that. Not all the doctors on Mobius, not those damn pills, or your legs, or your crappy attitude. We are in this together Sonic Hedgehog, however it ends. How many times do I have to tell you that before you believe it?" He chuckled then, perhaps remembering the first time I had said those words, so many years ago. Long before his limping had begun. Back when our worries had been so monumental and yet, somehow so simple.

"I'm gonna try harder on the attitude thing." He tells me, hugging me closer, soothing a hand over my hair, probably getting chili sauce in it.

"I know you'll try."

"I love ya Sal . . . ya know I still do, don'tcha?"

"It's nice to hear it. It's always good to hear it." I stroke my hand over the bundle of quills atop his head, playing lightly with them. "I love you too."

It is getting dark by the time we arrive home. We had sat for a while, watching the children play, reminiscing about Nick and Sophie when they had been little. We talk about good times remembered and hard times survived. We held hands and exchanged playful banter. I didn't want the day to end, but the digital clock mounted on the dash was creeping dangerously close to 7:00. It was nearly time for Sonic's evening medication and I had not thought to bring it with me. His limp is more pronounced as we make our way to the front door and guilt and worry gnaw at me as I hurry to unlock the door. He hobbles inside and I rush up the steps to the bathroom, gathering the medicine quickly, but not carelessly. I nearly run down the steps and to the kitchen, pouring a glass half full of tea. I nearly trip as I enter the den, Sonic looking up at me from his usual seat. He chuckles softly, shaking his head.

"Slow down Sal . . . I'm okay." I smile and plop down beside him, handing him the medicine and the glass. I watch him swallow them down, sitting the glass aside. I begin to stand so he can stretch out but he reaches out, grabbing lightly my arm.

"What's wrong?" I question softly.

"Stay." He says simply. I sit back down and pluck the remote from the coffee table, handing it to him. He takes it from my hand, studies it for a moment, then sits it aside. His eyes meet mine once more and he reaches out for my arm again, tugging gently. I move closer and still he tugs. I shift so I am sitting with our sides touching and he shakes his head no, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me until I am in his lap. I immediately begin to worry that my weight will put to much pressure on the tender, damaged muscle, but a second later he slides an arm beneath my knees, lifting slightly. My questioning expression melts away in an instant and tears fill my eyes as I wrap my arms around his neck. His eyes are lightly closed, I note as my own slip shut. I feel the memory of a thousand winds rush past me. I feel once more the unforgettable sensation of rocketing forward, the pull of gravity insisting we could not move at such a rate. But stronger than all of them and more than just a memory I feel Sonic's warmth engulf me. I feel my body melt into his own. I feel safe and sheltered and loved, for there has never been a place beyond his arms that those sensations existed. I feel his tears wetting my cheek, not the sad, forlorn tears he so often cries over all he has lost, but tears of joy for I can feel his heart race against my side and I know he feels the same as I do, that he is remembering not just his speed long gone but the simple joy of holding me close. And in that moment there is perfection. In that moment our ever after is perfect.


End file.
